


Stay calm

by A_Stressed_Cupcake



Series: Cass's Birthday Bash [1]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Nothing much happens though so dw, Owen centric, Poor Curt, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24534553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Stressed_Cupcake/pseuds/A_Stressed_Cupcake
Summary: A rewrite of the very first scene of Spies Are Forever.The interrogation goes horribly wrong.Little do they know, they've been saved from a much worse fate.(Could be the start of an AU or just a one-shot. Impulsive posting is fun   :) )
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: Cass's Birthday Bash [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773160
Comments: 19
Kudos: 125





	Stay calm

**Author's Note:**

> TW for injury

Owen was not the type to admit it when he didn't expect something. In this case, even less so, given the circumstances and the lack of someone to express his surprise to.

But was he really surprised?

Before one of his first assignments as a special agent, his informant had told him something that had stuck with him.

" _ Where there is trouble, there is Curt Mega. Where there is Curt Mega, there is trouble. _ "

Those words had, at the time, been spoken with a pure vitriolic aftertaste. Funny. The phrase, in Owen's mind, had soon acquired and maintained an affectionate tone, sort of a fond exasperation. Not that there hadn't been a time when he'd agreed with the informant 100%, but all that was gone. 

So no, he had  _ not _ been surprised when two guards from the east wing patrol squad had dragged in a certain American's unconscious body. But he hadn't been very impressed, either, in all honesty.

_ Come on, love. Alone for two minutes and look what happens _ , he'd thought, physically restraining himself from rolling his eyes but unable to contain a fond grin. Fortunately, he was able to twist the grin into something more sinister before the guards looked at him.

"Very good." he nodded, addressing them in Russian, "Leave him to me."

He nodded to a chair in the corner.

He wasn't going to hurt him, of course. Not too badly. It would all depend on how well Curt played along and, if he knew him at all, he knew he had no reason to be worried because Curt was a  _ master _ at playing along with his schemes. All he had to do was make sure he recognised him and everyone else didn't. Simple, right?

He almost sighed.

This was going to be a long day.

Curt actually woke up pretty soon. It took Owen at least three minutes to figure that out, though.

_ Very good _ , he nodded to himself, undeniably pleased with his partner's newfound abilities. A chill tickled his spine when it came to mind that the reason he was so good at pretending he was asleep was probably on account of multiple kidnappings. Probably more than Owen knew about.

This time would be different, though, because he had taken all the steps to ensure it.

First of all, Curt wasn't strapped in as tightly as he could've been. If push came to shove, he could free him in a matter of seconds.

Secondly, Owen had taken extra steps to make sure that the only other person in the room was the most thoroughly idiotic henchman he could find. Oleg was neither bright nor dexterous. Not enough to harm someone like Curt, anyway.

Thirdly, he knew exactly what made Curt tick. It would just be a matter of avoiding those particular things. Teeth, for example. Curt didn't like people getting near those.  _ I hate dentists _ , he'd told him one sleepy November night,  _ I got a tooth pulled when I was twelve and I decided I'm good for the rest of eternity. _

Lastly, Owen had a gun.

In essence, he had it under control.

He decided to hold off the interrogation a while longer. The best time for them to get out of here, the time when the patrol squad was all the way on the other side of the building, would come in about half an hour, and if Oleg hadn't noticed Curt was awake, there was no need to start the interrogation. Then there would be a risk it would escalate out of his control. That was the last thing he wanted to happen. He  _ needed _ to keep it under control, he repeated to himself, because it was Curt on the line and, if they put on a good enough play, they could walk out of there with a couple bruises at worst.

Almost five minutes passed, which was far longer than Owen would have expected Oleg's obliviousness to last, but then again, he wasn't the brightest of the bunch.

"He's awake!" the man warned him, walking up to Curt with a sort of sadistic excitement. Owen made a mental note to wipe that smile off his face later.

"Well…" he walked closer in measured paces, putting on his best Russian accent. Curt teased him for it, but he'd been practicing. Maybe… oh, what if the voice alone wasn't enough to recognise him? No matter.

"Welcome, Mr Mega. Make yourself comfortable."

Shit, he'd slipped a bit on the pronunciation there. 

_ Focus _ .

Curt was predictably cocky in his reply: "I'm pretty comfortable as it is, sugar. If you could find some margaritas, it would be perfect."

_ Typical Curt _ .

"We will see who's smiling at the end, Agent Mega." he replied, letting neither his accent nor his amusement leak through the cold detachment of his tone. He stalled as long as he could, taking measured steps around their prisoner.

_ Recognise me, damn you. _

Oleg wasn't complaining, for the time being. Maybe he even knew something about intimidation and interrogation techniques. Owen couldn't decide if that was an advantage or a disadvantage, in all honesty. 

"So, let me ask you a few questions." he started, "And I will be very nice to you, yes?" 

"Clearly." Curt sassed.

_ Listen here, you little shit. _

"Let me start with the basics. Why are you here?"

"Just passing by."

"We both know that is a lie, Agent." he said, dragging the words as much as he could without sounding suspicious. He had to psych himself up a bit in case he needed to rough Curt up a bit. Better him than anyone else, he told himself.

"I swear, I saw this lovely building here…" Curt tried to open his arms for emphasis, but that didn't work, for obvious reasons; "...and I thought  _ hey, isn't that a nice empty building to take a stroll in _ ?"

"Evidently not." he nodded, "All right, perhaps this question is uncomfortable. Let's try something else."

He was well aware of Oleg's eyes burrowing into his back. Sincerely, he hoped the man had the sense to let the  _ master torturer  _ do his thing without questioning him, but he knew he would have to let him have a go or he would get suspicious.

"Who is your contact?" he asked, dragging his hand along the back of the chair Curt was strapped in. And behind Curt's ear. He caught a shiver running up the agent's spine and he knew he'd struck gold. 

"Oleg, check the electricity." he called, just to get him away. Just five seconds. That was all he needed. He tugged Curt's head back.

"Play along, love." he whispered, and he could see the flicker of recognition in his partner's eyes spark, burn and die in the span of two seconds. 

_ Never get emotional _ ,  _ very good, dear. _

"Like I said, who is your contact?"

Curt didn't even have time to sass him. Someone called the phone in the room and he knew he had to answer it himself, because he was technically in charge there and to do otherwise would be awfully suspicious. He reluctantly stepped away from their prisoner.

"Oleg, go easy on him." he commanded, in Russian, "For the time being." he added, in English, knowing very well that Curt knew both languages as well as he did.

He took the call. A routine check in. Of course. How could he forget his daily report, which was… anything but routine, actually. They'd call him at any time in the span of five hours. Horribly unprofessional, but that was thankfully to his advantage in that case.

"Everything is fine, sir. I am interrogating a prisoner." he declared, "Yes. I will hear from you tomorrow. Goodbye." 

He hung up. 

Behind him, Oleg was hard at work asking Curt who his contact was.

Over and over.

Curt's responses were nothing if not creative.

"Oh, you don't know him."

"He never told me his name. It was a one-time thing, you know?"

"I don't know if he'd want me sharing his personal information like that."

But there was one that caught Owen's attention, and not for the right reasons. For the  _ this is setting off all the alarm bells in my head _ reasons.

"Whatcha gonna do with that, big boy?"

_ Never  _ a good sign.

"For the last time, who's your contact?" Oleg asked once again, and Curt's only response, judging by the noise, was blowing raspberry.

Owen whipped around just in time to see the hammer raised above Curt.

To see the look in his eyes when he realised he was no longer safe. 

To see his eyes turn towards him at the last second.

" **_Owen_ ** !!" he screamed, and the hammer crashed into his knee.

Owen would never get used to that sound.

Bones breaking.

He'd heard it so many times, on himself and others, hell, even on Curt. It did not get better. Ever.

A much more familiar sound was the gunshot that followed, the  _ splat _ of the bullet finding its new home in poor, stupid Oleg's gut. 

_ Bang _

_ Bang _

_ Bang _

Three shots. He wasn't gonna walk out of there on those knees.

The red faded from the edge of his vision and he reminded himself to  _ stay calm, Owen _ . But then Curt gasped in pain and all that kinda went out the window with a massive  _ fuck that _ on his muscles' part. He jolted towards his partner before he even knew it: "Curt!!"

Curt bit his lip hard to contain whatever pained noise was trying to escape. He failed. 

"Oh, God, Curt, I'm so-" he knelt by him, those same knots he'd tied looking more similar to an inextricable, tangled mess in his panicked mind.

_ Calm down _ .

_ Stay calm. _

The ropes fell from his hands and Curt slumped forward to cradle his injured knee.

"Oh…  _ fuck _ …" he hissed, " _ Shit, _ that hurts. Oh God, Owen, you shoulda told me."

"I know. I know, love, I'm so sorry. I thought you would recognise me-"

"Nono, I was talking about the knee." he groaned, "You… shoulda told me that's what it felt like. Jerk."

Owen blinked. Was…  _ that _ really his priority? He wouldn't put it past him, but… at that moment? Even Curt had to know better.

Then it occurred to him that the only other times Curt had acted like that was when he was half unconscious with pain, and he made the executive decision he had nicknamed  _ get the hell out of here _ . He stared at Curt's knee for a moment. He had to immobilise it, and quickly. 

Good thing the torture room had a first aid kit. Just in case. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to think about what  _ just in case _ meant, but it was none of his business. 

Given that the place was nearly trashed, at least where they were, it wasn't hard to find a loose board. Various strings and bandages did a passable job of holding it in place, and he forced himself to tie it tight,  _ no matter how much pain Curt was in, _ because he wasn't going to get any better like that.

"Let's get out of here." he said, and Curt seemed inclined to agree. 

He gave him a half-baked thumbs up and a less half-baked wink: "Are you going to carry me?"

"I  _ was  _ going to. Don't make me change my mind." he warned, but it would probably have been more effective if he weren't already slinging his partner's arm around his neck.

They didn't make it out in record time.

Not even close.

But Owen knew that, regrettably, the place had to be blown up anyway, and he wasn't going to walk back in there to do so, not while they had a shot at getting out unseen. He fiddled with the wires of their explosive of choice.  _ What's our record? Six minutes _ ? He thought, and set the timer for ten minutes. 

But running with a busted knee was hard for anyone, and they were too deep into the facility to get out in any less than ten minutes. Owen spent a good few minutes cursing himself for not giving it any more time, then reminded himself that there would be a risk of someone defusing the bomb otherwise, then remembered an unexploded facility wasn’t worth blowing himself and his partner up. 

They cut it way too close. 

A gust of hot air blew in their faces, too close for comfort. 

But they were out and the building was down, and that was all he had time to worry about at that exact moment. 

_ Run _ , his instincts said, and he listened.

The doctor sent by the agency (he honestly couldn’t remember which one) made a face when he examined Curt’s knee; according to him, at least. Curt was laughing when he said that, but his laugh tapered off when he told Owen what had followed said face: “It’s never going to recover completely.” he sighed, “He’s not even sure I can get back to work.”

Owen didn’t dare touch him, no matter how much he wanted to comfort him. He would have to settle for words. 

“I’m so sorry, Curt.” he murmured, “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think he w-”

Curt held his hand up to stop him. 

“I’m sorry.” Owen repeated.

“You didn’t… you couldn’t have known.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.”

“Owen.”

“I mean, I underestimated him. He looked like such a moron.”

“Owen.”

“I didn’t want to blow my cover and so I-”

“Owen, shut up.”

Curt made a  _ zip it _ gesture and he shut up. He felt almost spellbound by such a simple gesture. Maybe it wasn’t the gesture. Maybe it was the guy making it. He deflated completely, sitting back in his chair with a weary sigh.

“What now, Curt?” he asked. 

“Now you make it up to me.” he smirked. For some reason, he didn’t seem nearly as freaked out as Owen expected. Although that might have been because Curt was very fond of special treatments; whether that was his coping mechanism or just something he had a weakness for, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“What would you like?”

Curt made an exaggerated  _ thinking _ noise, as if he didn’t already have a whole day planned out in the little alone time they would get before they were taken back to their respective countries. He did. He’d most likely had a plan since the moment he’d looked at their schedule, and he knew damn well that Owen would agree to whatever he asked at that moment.

“You could start with a drink.” he suggested, “I seem to remember I asked for a margarita earlier.”

Owen laughed bitterly: “I’ll see what I can do. We  _ are _ in Moscow.”

“I’d settle for a White Russian.”

“That might be easier to find.”

“Then get on it,  _ love _ .” Curt teased.

Their laugh was genuine that time. It turned out to be a better day than Owen had expected from a day that had started with bad news.

His drink had never tasted better.

**Author's Note:**

> And then none of that Chimera thing happened but Curt's knee is still kinda messed up so hey, if you guys would be interested, I could make this into a whole AU.  
> I didn't expect to write anything Owen-centric but I am glad I did.
> 
> Good morning darlings :D  
> Today is my birthday and nothing says "celebration" like writing angst with a happy ending in one of my favourite fandoms I've never written for. Yay :D  
> Y'all can have a little fluff. As a treat.
> 
> Leave a comment because poor Curt :,)
> 
> -Cass


End file.
